


Refrains

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Episode Related, Introspection, M/M, Torchwood Radio Play: The Dead Line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack contemplates phrases he's heard over the past few years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refrains

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually respond so quickly to a radio play or episode, but this one bit too hard.
> 
> Many thanks to my husband for the beta.

  
  
  
  


_"You left us, Jack!"_

The sting of that stuck with him. He didn't really know why. It wasn't as if he hadn't heard it a hundred – a thousand – times before from people who'd let themselves get attached. Leaving was his refrain.

Perhaps it was because Gwen's version was the latest iteration of it. He couldn't remember having felt that sting for so long before, but his memory tended to fade after a while. It still bothered him that it did.

Why couldn't his memory be immortal, as well? Wrong question, of course. It was brain capacity that was physically limited, not the duration of a given thought. How many bits of information had he been given for his lifetime, now that he couldn't stay dead? Would that be as affected by time as his outward appearance?

People were harder to remember than facts and history. They needed more. They took more time and thought to remember. They were more trouble, took up so much more space in a mind that had already broken too many times just nanoseconds into now-interminable existence. They hurt more.

He blinked, not daring to shift.

He had left. He'd had to, and not just because he'd needed to find out what was wrong with him and why he couldn't die. They'd hurt him. Everyone had hurt him, but none more than Torchwood, and of them, none more than his team. _His_ team. The ones he'd handpicked so carefully, all but one, for his first attempt at true responsibility since he'd let go of Gray. They had betrayed him, the one for the second time. All part and parcel of life as Time Agent, galactic conman and Torchwood operative.

Only this time, he hadn't just loved them, he'd _loved_ them. He'd valued them and cherished and nurtured them, and for all their faults, they'd made him believe he was a good person, that he'd be of real value. That he was lovable. That he could pass the test and be more to the Doctor than just a good soldier with decent TARDIS maintenance skills. And then they'd gone against his most explicit and important orders and opened the Rift, and proven to him just how powerless and ineffectual he was as a leader – how worthless he would be to the Doctor.

When he'd given himself to Abaddon, he'd planned to really die. When he'd come back, he'd awakened quietly, peacefully, after an enormous struggle that he had no memory of experiencing and still didn't understand. Gwen had kissed him back to life, and supported him until just before they'd reached the others. He'd forgiven them all with an understanding and depth of feeling that he hadn't experienced before, and a loneliness too profound to fight.

And then, when he'd finally shooed Gwen from the subject and his office as she'd unwittingly opened his worst wound, he'd sensed the ripple he'd been longing for and catapulted himself onto the skin of the TARDIS to travel to the end of the Universe – to time spent learning that he was not merely wrong but _wrong_. To torture that winnowed him, that bound him to and separated him from the Doctor in equal measure. To the realisation that the Doctor, though more powerful and compelling than anyone he'd yet encountered, was far from perfect, far from invulnerable, and farther from immortality than he would ever be. To a year that never would be acknowledged or known by any but those on the _Valiant_, during which the hope he found in anticipating his return to Cardiff and his team – his Gwen, his Owen, his Toshiko, his Ianto – was surpassed by the pain of their rejection. This torture, the Master had wielded with the exquisite precision of one gone mad from pain.

His back ached, then, and he did shift, causing Ianto to huff a little in his sleep.

 

_"You should see his manners in bed. They're atrocious ... apparently, so I've heard—"_

_"Oh, they are! I remember this one t—"_

Jack had been annoyed then. It had been a tease, of course, but could he really trust anybody to the slightest degree? The Time Agency had taught him that he couldn't, but the Doctor had changed his mind. At least, he had for a while. And so had Estelle, who had pointed out that when it came to teasing, he had a harder time taking it than he did dishing it out. Perhaps he should finally admit that she'd had a point.

Now, though, he found himself smiling, tempted to make some sort of physical or vocal gesture to wake Ianto up just to revel in the facial expressions and one-liner with which he would be despatched.

Most of his transgressions had been accidental. He'd never been a quiet sleeper, so the first few months of sleeping together had resulted in stolen covers, tossed pillows, duvets flung in Ianto's face, twelve episodes of sleep-stripping before they'd agreed that sleeping naked was the best solution, at least five incidents of somnophilia that he hadn't been aware of experiencing until Ianto's yelp had awakened him, and three unfortunate cases of starting awake to find Ianto moaning on the floor and rubbing some part of himself that had been bruised. He smiled, though, as he recalled how the somnophilia had become a shared and much-loved kink.

What had forced him to change his nocturnal behaviour was the night when he'd shoved Ianto hard out of the bed during a nightmare. The blood from the head wound had gone everywhere. Owen had forbidden Ianto to sleep with Jack for a week unless they were in a room with carpeting and no hard furniture within four feet of the bed. (Shagging was fine.) He had missed Ianto a bit too much.

He moved his hand towards Ianto's hair and then stopped. This day had been trying, at best, and Ianto really needed his sleep. He'd thought just yesterday that Ianto was soothed by his touch, but now he wasn't so sure.

 

_"You always leap before you look, Jack!"_

She'd said that today. They were all back at the Hub having finished up with St. Helen's Hospital, found, secured and neutralised all the old phones, and done necessary cleanup and retcon distribution following some of the less explicable accidents. They'd also had to seal up Maddock House until they could strip out anything that had ever been able to hold or transmit an electrical charge.

> "You go in, guns blazing - or ears unprotected, in this case - without thinking about what you're doing, and then we have to clear up after you."
> 
> "Yeah, well, it didn't turn out too badly, in the end—"
> 
> Gwen gaped at him. "Not too badly?"
> 
> "A thousand people injured in traffic accidents in England and Wales," supplied Rhys, almost as heatedly. "And three of my drivers are in hospital or helping the police with their inquiries."
> 
> "Still haven't heard from the rest of the world, yet," said Ianto, so gently that it really stung.
> 
> "That wasn't my fault! They already had – what – how many people?"
> 
> "Forty-six," said Gwen, Rhys and Ianto.
> 
> "See? I was just one more!"
> 
> "One more who could have been helping us with the investigation, maybe even solving it before whatever did this got on the mobile network," said Rhys.
> 
> "And how do we know that it wasn't you and your extra life force, or whatever it is, that gave them the critical mass necessary to ring every phone in the UK?" said Gwen.
> 
> Ianto turned quietly from his computer screen. "The world, actually. Even the Antarctic and a toy phone in Mongolia."
> 
> The room fell silent.
> 
> "All right," said Jack, through the pressure in his chest, "you've made your point. I'll be more careful next time."
> 
> "Look, Jack," said everyone at once, before they caught themselves stumbling over one another.
> 
> "It's been a long day," said Ianto. "Can the debriefing wait until everyone's had some sleep?"
> 
> "Oh, Ianto," said Gwen, squeezing his arm, "you've been up for at least thirty-six hours, haven't you?"
> 
> "And you figured out how to stop the carnage," said Rhys, admiringly. "What could you do with a night of drinking under your belt?"
> 
> Ianto just smiled, crinkles at the corners of his eyes showing up the watery redness of exhaustion.
> 
> As they left, Gwen kissed them both, and Rhys squeezed Jack's arm and said, "Welcome back, mate."
> 
> Jack looked over at Ianto once Gwen and Rhys were gone and saw drooping eyelids fighting steely determination. He went to Ianto and drew him into his arms. "Thank you."
> 
> "For getting rid of Gwen and Rhys?"
> 
> "Well, I was hoping you'd understand because 'Thank you for the EMP, darling' just doesn't sound all that romantic until we get to the Seventh Post-Existence Era in about 4229, when—"
> 
> "Jack...."
> 
> "Bed?"
> 
> Ianto nodded and let his head drop onto Jack's shoulder. "And you're welcome," he added, though his words were slurred.

He'd had to climb into bed over Ianto's sleeping form just two minutes after he'd closed the hatch. _Not always, Gwen._ He regarded the man who'd saved the world, who'd saved him from an eternity of serving as a tortured conduit, and knew that at least some of his decisions were good ones. And that he had handpicked Ianto every bit as much as he had the others.

 

_"I'm not leaving him. Not 'til you wake up, Jack. I'm not going anywhere."_

Somehow, in the midst of the storm in his head, he'd heard that. He hadn't even been able to try to send Ianto a signal, but he'd heard and ached.

There had been many who'd hung onto his coattails, many who'd fallen for him, many who'd craved his jaw line or the power he wielded. There had been many who'd promised to be there when he woke up, and then weren't. There had also been those few who had stayed, whom he had even loved. He thought painfully of Greg Bishop. Greg, he would remember.

And then there was Ianto. Ianto had betrayed him twice over – three times, if he counted giving Gwen the GPS for Flat Holm – and yet was still here. Even after he, Jack, had executed what was left of Lisa, Ianto was still here, alive and with memories intact. After the opening of the Rift and the nearest thing to staying dead that he'd yet experienced, he'd greeted Ianto with a close embrace and a very public, very intimate kiss instead of the business end of his Webley.

Ianto had always disturbed him, right from the start. He'd thought initially that it was the strong sexual attraction he'd felt for a man that was trying too hard, knew too much and was too hungry. When he'd found out about Ianto's involvement in Torchwood One, he'd found even more reason for suspicion and distrust. So why was it, then, that Ianto was here at all, let alone after having proven all of his suspicions and worries correct?

For one thing, Jack understood that hunger. He'd also been a conman, desperate for a better life and something or someone to bring out the best in him. In Ianto, he'd recognised more than a frisson of loss, confirmed when he'd spent much of that first night poring over both police and Torchwood dossiers. He'd dealt with tearaways and drifters before, but Ianto had felt different, with more hidden potential and danger than any ASBO kid he'd known. But Ianto wasn't an ASBO kid. He was intelligent, efficient, quiet and far more capable and academically astute than his school marks had let on.

As Jack had found out a few months after hiring the man, Ianto was also loyal to a fault. So much so that it clouded his judgement at exactly the wrong times and in exactly the wrong ways. This continued to worry Jack. Even after the Flat Holm incident, when Ianto had been absolutely right that Gwen needed to know about it and make her own mistakes, he worried desperately about Ianto sacrificing himself for all the wrong reasons. When he allowed himself to think about it, Jack worried that Ianto would sacrifice himself for him. That, more than anything else, had made him keep Ianto at arm's length, even if those arms had wasted away to mere nubs.

 

_"I've watched you in your sleep. Did you know that?"_

No. Jack hadn't known that. He also hadn't really kept track of how much more he'd been sleeping, now that Ianto shared his bed every night. He'd lost track of the last time he'd spent the whole night brooding on the roofs around Cardiff or avoiding sleep because of recurrent nightmares. The nightmares hadn't gone away, but they had abated a little, and now that he and Ianto had got used to each other, he could wake without harming his bedmate. More often than not, these days, he'd find himself awakening in Ianto's arms, only then realising that the dulcet voice that had staved off the faeries and Daleks had been Ianto's. Of course, he'd never reveal that sometimes that voice had sounded female.

Had his nightmares been the cause of Ianto's awakening? Had he cost Ianto hours of sleep? When they'd first shared a bed for the night, or more to the point, when they'd first done that with sleeping in mind, Ianto had slept soundly, waking only for the worst one of his nightmares. But now Ianto was watching him while he slept? He couldn't stop an involuntary shiver as the thought spread through him with all its implications. How safe was Ianto on the job, now? Was this a form of sacrifice that he hadn't anticipated, but ultimately just as deadly as the more overt possibilities he'd feared?

Ianto stirred, then, reaching back for Jack's hand. "You're thinking too loudly," he griped into his pillow.

Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto, pressing himself as close as he could to the smooth back. "Sorry," he said, smiling into Ianto's shoulder and trying to keep his breath steady. He failed, utterly.

Ianto turned in his arms and embraced him, kissing his forehead. "What's wrong, Jack?"

"If I told you that, I'd be breaking a promise I couldn't quite actually make."

"That sounds ... convoluted." Ianto thumbed away a tear. "Nightmare?"

Jack stroked Ianto's cheek and shook his head. "Conundrum."

"You won't be breaking a promise you couldn't make," said Ianto, after a long pause.

"Do I wake you up? When you watch me in my sleep, I mean?"

"No, not usually. Not anymore."

"Then—"

"I get nightmares too, Jack. I just don't ... dream as loudly as you sometimes do."

"Is that all it is?"

"I ... fret, a bit."

Jack couldn't stop himself from curling a little in silent laughter.

"Yes, alright, we all know I'm a Nellie," grumbled Ianto.

"Only sometimes," said Jack. "We all are."

"True enough," said Ianto, though his tension didn't ease, and he wouldn't meet Jack's eyes.

"I meant what I said today," said Jack, his voice thicker than he'd have liked. "About the blip in time thing."

When Jack had first said what he had, Ianto had been rooted to the floor, unable to speak, barely able to swallow or remain on his feet. And then the nurse had come in and bustled them out to make room for the casualties after the day's third wave of phone calls. Now, Ianto kissed him with a hard trembling.

Jack soothed his way into the kiss, breaking it only when he couldn't refrain from speaking anymore. "I do dream about you, and you can bet your life I'm smiling about that, at least when I'm not having a nightmare about you being eaten by teenage girls—"

"Oh, I don't know. Might not be too bad."

Jack felt his mouth open and close a time or two.

"Specially if I manage to get old first," added Ianto.

"I'm not going to leave you just because you get old," said Jack, quietly. "I can't promise that I won't leave at all, but it won't be because of that."

"Even if my hair falls out?"

"Yul Brynner."

"I suppose you knew him?"

"No."

"That's a first."

"But I did meet him once."

"Of course."

"I did!"

"I believe you." But Ianto had pulled away and was back to not meeting Jack's eyes.

Jack took a deep breath. "I'm not much of a talker, either—"

Ianto fixed him with an incredulous stare.

"Okay, so I talk a lot." Jack took another breath that rolled and crashed into the first. "I'll leave with the Doctor if the world needs saving and he needs me to help, which seems to happen about once a year."

"And you'll come back from that," said Ianto.

"I'll come back from that. I'll leave for good if it becomes clear that I have to do that to save the world, the country, the Queen or you."

"You mean me, or the team?"

"Yes. The team or you, but especially you." This time, Jack's breath was not so steady.

Ianto swallowed and lowered his eyes, nodding slightly.

"I'll leave if you want me to go," said Jack quietly.

"This is your place," mumbled Ianto.

Jack cuffed Ianto's arm gently. "You know what I mean."

"Same's true for me," said Ianto.

"I know." Jack stroked Ianto's arm. "Why are you here?"

Ianto stiffened under Jack's hand. "Erm... you practically carried me here last night?"

"I killed your fiancée. Why are you with me?"

"Shouldn't we be having this conversation in an interrogation room?" said Ianto, after the most uncomfortable pause Jack had ever known.

"I don't need to, but if you'd be more comfortable there—"

"You executed a Cyberman. Lisa died long before that. Mostly." Ianto's voice threatened to break. "I thought there was nothing left for me but my existence here. But then you gave me meaning again."

"Me, or Torchwood?"

"Both," said Ianto, "but especially you."

Jack couldn't help but smile. "Turnabout's fair play."

"I mean it."

"I know." He kissed Ianto's forehead. "But shouldn't you go out there and see how the other half lives? Find out if this is really what you want?"

"Been there, done that, grown the fuck up," said Ianto. "Right or wrong, this is where I belong." He searched Jack's eyes. "And however it started, Jack, it's, er, that is, I ... well, things have ... evolved."

Jack cupped Ianto's face and smiled. "I heard you the first time." He lay back, tired suddenly, and drew Ianto closer.

Ianto drew back to gaze and trace Jack's sleepy smile with a fingertip. "I missed this."

"I know. And Ianto, I don't always remember my dreams, but I never smile anymore when I think of leaving."

Ianto drew himself closer, draping a leg comfortably over Jack's and pressing a fervent kiss to Jack's chest. "Love the way you fit," he mumbled, full of sleep.

"Me, too," murmured Jack, tilting Ianto's chin up for a long, shared kiss goodnight.

 

_"Would you go back to your own time, if you could?"_

_"Why? Would you miss me?"_

_"Yup."_

Long after Ianto had fallen asleep on him, Jack lay awake, stroking smooth shoulder and scarred arm, simultaneously mourning and marvelling at the loss of his nubs. Even the knowledge that Ianto would find out about the worst things he'd ever done gave him no luck growing them back. Maybe he wouldn't need them, he thought, as he pulled Ianto a little closer. But then his own words about turnabout being fair play echoed in his head.

"I'll miss you, too, Ianto Jones," he breathed into Ianto's hair. "Way too much."

**Current mood:** |   
depressed  
---|---


End file.
